


If you loved me how'd you never learn

by Levans44



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Co-workers, Drinking, F/M, One Shot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, SHIELD Agent Reader (Marvel), Slow Romance, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tipsy Steve Rogers, but as of right now its a, idk - Freeform, might turn this into a fic, with steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levans44/pseuds/Levans44
Summary: Drinking with co-worker Steve Rogers has never proved to be more complicated, especially when feelings get involved.Title credit: Bloodstream by Ed Sheeran





	If you loved me how'd you never learn

“ _Please_ , Shawn, just-” There was a hurried sigh and mumbled apology from the other end before the god damned flat tone sounded, ringing dizzily in her ears as she tossed her phone down frustratedly, the distant sound of the automated voice message taunting her.

She threw herself down on the bed, not bothering to wipe the tears flowing down from the corners of her eyes.

“You’re such a fucking idiot” She muttered to herself shakily, pressing her palms into her swollen eyes.

Not even a year after her last breakup and it had happened again. Granted, she and Shawn had lasted for five months, and that was about four months more than the time she spent with former dates; it was a miracle he hadn’t run off sooner. Still, she couldn’t help the cold shock that ran through her when he told her that he wanted to end things with her.

“I never see you anymore, it’s just not working” he had said. It was always one thing or another. The traveling, time spent away from each other, not being able to be seen together in public, people recognizing her everywhere they went. Whatever the reasons were for her failed relationships, she knew that they were all rooted in one thing - her job.

A sudden knock on the door yanked her from her thoughts, making her jerk her hands off her face and look up at the door. She sighed and lied back down, not finding in herself motivation to get up. Remaining in her position, sprawled out on the bed, she continued to wallow in her sorrows, before her ears perked up at a familiar voice calling her name. While it was muffled by the door, she could recognize that voice anywhere; unmistakably soft, gentle, and considerate, she tried to ignore the way that it made her stomach jump, warmth flushing through her tense-ridden body.

She lifted herself off the bed, hastily wiping her eyes as she walked briskly toward the door, willing the tear stains to fade. Upon running a hand through her hair, she reached for the handle.

Steve’s head darted up at the sound of the door opening, a smile on his face as he greeted her. “Hey,”

“Hey, Steve” she smiled weakly; as hard as she tried to muster up some energy, her voice was small and shaky, almost drowned out by the loud drone of the AC in the hallway.

She felt her stomach drop as the smile on his face quickly disappeared, a frown starting to etch its way on to his eyebrows as his eyes darted across her features, resting on her eyes.

He pursed his lips before opening them, struggling to decide what to say before she beat him to it.

“What did you need Steve?” Her eyes flickered down to the carpet, diverting his gaze. 

“Right, I…” He cleared his throat. “I was going to see if you still wanted to check out that bar with me. Last night before the mission and all.”

Despite her mood, she almost let out a smile at his offer. When they had checked in this morning, she had taken particular notice of the extravagant bar in the lobby, equipped with all kinds of drinks, lights of a thousand hues, and glasses shining from the ceiling. Promising her that he would visit it with her later, Steve had persuaded her that tequila shots at 9 am definitely was _not_ a good idea.

She had forgotten about their little quarrel; he hadn’t. Another wave of warmth washed through her, allowing her to forget momentarily, before the frigid reminder of the phone call settled in once again.

“I… was actually going to call it an early night, feeling a bit tired” she lied, gesturing down to her outfit - a plain, cotton shirt and some shorts.

“Oh” His face fell, though he obviously tried to hide it, and her gut sank, eyes trailing down apologetically. It was only then that she realized what he was wearing. Steve rarely dressed in formal wear unless it was for a mission or Tony’s benefit galas. Now, he stood in front of her in an incredibly well-fitted navy suit with a white shirt underneath, his golden hair brushed back smoothly.

She hung her head in shame, as he muttered out words attempted to reassure her, rubbing the back of his neck as he wished her a good night, before turning around and starting to walk back to his room. She gripped the handle, her knuckles white, pulling it toward her before she stopped abruptly. Closing her eyes shut tight then opening them, she poked her head out of the door and yelled to the figure down the hall.

“Wait, Steve!” His slouched shoulders perked up, as he swiveled around. “I-If you could give me a minute to get ready, I…” she bit her lip. “I could actually use a drink” She breathed out, the words escaping her chest, relieving a little bit of the pressure there.

“Sure, of course” he said, striding back toward her door. She nodded, walking back into her room, before she stopped.

“…. or, actually, there’s a very sizable mini bar in my room if you want to raid that instead.”

It was a mere suggestion, a couple of words that floated curiously in the space between them, and she willed herself that she wouldn’t be disappointed if he said no. She was fully aware of the morals and values that Steve Rogers lived by, and while she _hated_ the prospect of him thinking that she intended to corrupt them, she dreaded the idea of having to dress up for a remindful date-like situation even more.

“I…” Steve looked hesitant, but not because he couldn’t make up his mind about wanting to accept. No, his eyes were inspecting _her_ reaction instead, trying to determine whether or not she really meant to invite him in.

She picked at the skin on her index finger as she awaited his response, a few dreadful moments passing by during which she kicked herself for even _asking_ him the question.

“Sure,” he finally remarked with a smile, though the concern was still present in his expression.

Her eyes widened slightly, not actually expecting an affirmative answer from him.

“Ok, cool” She pursed her lip, stepping aside to let him in, while she inwardly cringed at her word choice. Steve didn't seem to notice, however, as he slowly walked past the door frame and into her rather spacious room.

“Gee, I think your room’s bigger than mine.” He noted, glancing around. She shrugged “Guess I'm Fury's favorite” 

Steve let out a loud chuckle and, for a second, things were like they were before - easy, casual, not forced, until that moment dispersed, leaving them standing there awkwardly in the middle of her room, Steve's gaze on her again, his thoughtful expression unreadable.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, clearing her throat. “Do you want to check out what they got at the bar?” That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah.” They started to move suddenly and at the same time, him to the display of alcoholic drinks on top of her mini fridge, her to her dresser as she reached for a hair tie and threw her hair in a bun. She momentarily entertained the thought of plopping down on the comfort of her bed, but quickly decided against it and opted for the soft couch in front of the television instead - she invited him for a drink, _not_ for them to drink on her bed.

The seat swallowed her whole as she sank in, and Steve's voice called from the other side of the room.

“Okay, so we've got vodka, tequila, rum, wine, and... some hooch.” he announced.

A smile cracked on her face. “I'm sorry, some _what_?”

Steve's eyes crinkled in confusion, before they smiled in realization as he turned around.

“That's just what we used to call whiskey.” He said, lifting a golden brown bottle of Jack Daniels from the array of drinks.

“Oh” she nodded, eyebrows raised. She eyed the bottle, the amused expression still on her face. “Well in that case, I think I'll have some of that _hooch_.”

“Okay” he nodded with a chuckle, bringing over the whole bottle along with two glasses and the ice bucket, somehow being able to carry them all at once. Setting the items down on the coffee table in front of her, he plonked a block of ice into each glass, pouring the whiskey on top as it cascaded down the transparent sides.

“Cheers” clinking her glass with his, she brought the glass up to her parted lips, tipping her head back and letting a large amount of the drink trickle in.

As she swallowed, the whiskey burned deliciously in the back of her throat. Hot and scalding at first, before slowly reducing to a consistent warmth that settled deep in her stomach. She let out a breath and sank further in her seat, reveling in the feeling of the drink seeping into every part of her body.

Taking another sip, smaller and less rushed this time, she let the drink swirl in her mouth for a second before swallowing. The musky aroma spread across her taste buds - normally even the smell of whiskey made her frown in disgust, but somehow it felt calming to her now, evoking stabs of nostalgia and grief.

She watched Steve as he sat in the armchair across from her; he had only drunk with her the first time, and was now holding the cup in his hand, looking down as he swirled the ice around.

She finished off the drink he had poured her with the third gulp - recovering from the burn after swallowing was becoming easier and easier with each sip.

As she moved the cup back down on the table, her fingers slipped at the last second, and the glass clanked down on the table a little bit louder than she had anticipated.

At that Steve’s head snapped up, eyebrows raised. She mumbled an apology, hastily reaching for the bottle to pour another before Steve stopped her, reaching a large hand that completely enveloped hers.

“Woah, woah, slow down” Steve chuckled lightly, his eyes flickering up to hers. She knew that he wasn’t doing it to baby her or anything, but that it was simply out of pure concern - that was Steve for you, always looking out for people he cared about. She wondered for a fleeting second if he considered her to be one of them.

Steve’s fingertips felt insanely warm as they moved gently around hers, and she couldn’t decide if the heat pulsating through her was from his touch or just the alcohol.

Prying her fingers off of the bottle, he poured her drink for her - too much for it to be a single shot, but not enough for it to be satisfying. Her frustrated huff earned another smile from him as he set the bottle back down. 

After another few quiet moments, during which they both watched the ice slowly melt, seeping into the drink and lightening it to a gold-ish brown, Steve finally opened his mouth, his voice rumbling deep in his chest, quiet and deep.

“So you gonna tell me what’s up?”

She raised an eyebrow, eyes flickering up to meet his. Steve returned her attempt at a poker face with an expression that read right through her. She gave up trying to look clueless a few seconds later, and let out a sigh.

She picked her glass up, moving it back and forth between her hands as she bit her lip.

“Shawn and I broke up” The soft words felt strange as they rolled off her tongue, and she couldn’t help but feel that her grief was petty, too petty to be talking to Steve about, once she had actually said it out loud.

She expected him to respond with something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘that’s too bad.’ So, when she was met with only silence, she looked up in confusion to see Steve with a conflicted face, like he was debating whether or not to say something.

“What?” She prompted.

“You want my honest opinion?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No, lie to me Rogers”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Ok, well,” He paused for a second, pursing his lips before looking up to meet her eyes, “I always thought he was kind of a jackass”

At that, she couldn’t help but let out a snort, eyes widening.

“Wow, you… So that time at JFK, that was…” She trailed off, recalling the first time Steve had met Shawn, who had came to pick her up at the airport after a mission abroad. She remembered the rather stiff way with which Steve had greeted her ex, and how she had attributed it to exhaustion from the plane ride. She smiled as a renewed meaning attached itself to the memory.

He only shrugged in response, an adorably sheepish expression on his face.

She threw her head back laughing, “Steve Rogers, you snake.”

“I’m sorry! I just…” He raised in arms in defense as they both shared a chuckle, taking a few moments as their laughter subsided. “Just never felt like he was good enough for you.”

He finished his sentence by meeting his baby blue eyes with hers, the look in his irises so heartfelt, she felt a tight pang in her chest, suffocating her. For a second, everything stopped - time, air, her heart, all things cliched - and she couldn’t find in herself to speak, to move, to do anything to recover from the situation.

And then the moment passed, just like it had before, and as much as it pained her to do so, she cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. 

Sipping on her drink, she was able to find new topics for them to move on to, teasing him for being slow with his drinking, for example.

He took on the challenge, downing what was left in his glass, and they both shared a laugh over the grimace on his face, as she tried to ignore the bittersweet flavor lingering on her tongue.

Like the whiskey swirling in their cups, their conversation continued to flow to easier topics - humorous accounts during recent mission expeditions, Tony’s most bizarre invention to date, and, interestingly enough, the extent of Steve’s abilities awarded by the serum.

“Iss not ffair, _you_ can’t even get d-runk” she punctuated the ‘you’ by stabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. Somehow, during all the talking, she had persuaded him to come sit next to her on the couch - the space between them seemed so unnecessarily awkward when alcohol became involved. Her speech was a lot slower, her tongue dragging on the ‘s’s and ‘r’s, a telltale sign that the alcohol was fully pumping through her. They had gotten through a few more rounds, and the bottle was nearly half-empty now.

Steve laughed, throwing his head back, his laughter louder than usual, although what she said wasn’t even very funny. “No, but I _can_ get tipsy”

“Oh iss _that_ whachu are, tipsy?” She giggled, before her face suddenly fell serious, her smile falling in an instant. She remembered the first time she got drunk with Shawn, how she had insisted that she wasn’t drunk, and refused to leave her spot at the bar. It took him a solid hour and a bit of drinking on his part for him to persuade her to go home.

“Hey, you alright?” He reached out concernedly, settling a hand on her cup, helping her lower it to the coffee table below. The ice was now all gone; all that was left of it wet condensation dripping down the side of the glass.

“Yeah” she took a deep breath, running both hands through her hair. “I’m fine”

“It’s just… I mean it’s just so tired right?” She said, much loudly than before, throwing her hands in the air. That got him to raise his eyebrows, looking at her with renewed interest.

“Like, _god forbid_ a sstrong, secure guy be ok with his girrlfriend doing… well, _this_ forr a living” She gestured vaguely around to the hotel room, but Steve knew what she meant. An important international ambassador was planning to stay at a room only a couple of floors above them, and their job starting tomorrow would be to secure her safety against any and all suspicious activity, putting the mission’s needs above any of their own. They barely had time to take care of themselves during a high-stakes mission like that, let alone maintain a relationship.

“It’s just… iss so messed up” she leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes, tears pricking in the back like ice-sharp needles; maybe if she found someone who did what _she_ did, understand _why_ she did it, it could work out.

“S-ometimes I wish I could date someone who…” He didn’t need her to finish the sentence to understand it. She surprised herself with her boldness, looking up at him to judge his reaction. His eyes, with the pupils slightly blown, were staring intently at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, only nodding. She understood his silence as a reminder to the reality of their relationship - coworkers, who can’t be anything more than that, for the sake of their own good. ‘But was it really?’ she couldn’t help but wonder to herself, as she continued.

“I do what I do becausse I love doing it, but I feel like I’ll never find someone to be really _happy_ with. And the only thing I _really_ want I just can’t seem to k-eep, ya know?”

She returned her gaze hesitantly toward him, her vision a little blurry from the tears.

“Yeah, I do.” She was momentarily confused at the overwhelming sadness etched in his face, before she realized that he must know _exactly_ what she meant, even better than her. He had sacrificed the one person he truly wanted for a lifetime of fighting and hero-work he didn’t even ask for.

“S-steve, I’m sso sorry, I shouldn’t have, I just-” the words tumbled out of her mouth as she shifted in her seat to face him, palms facing toward him.

“No” He said firmly, his hand reaching out and gently holding her wrist. Her entire arm felt like it was set on fire. “Don’t be.”

There were a hundred things she could have blamed on for what happened next. The alcohol. The time. The temperature of the room. Steve’s piercingly deep gaze on her, so warm and real and _right there_. But none of them would come close to the real reason why she did what she did.

Why she lunged forward, holding his face in both of her hands, and pressed her lips against his, eyes squeezed shut. Why her tongue prodded his mouth open, caressing every part of it, the taste of whiskey so much more appealing on him. Why his soft, large hands settling on her waist felt like heated iron branding her skin.

Why _he_ didn’t stop her until a few frenzied kisses and rushed breaths later. 

He wheezed out her name, their breathing heavy even though the kiss had lasted for only a few seconds, as his hands took her shoulders, pushing them back and holding them there.

“You’re drunk.”

It was an established fact. Yeah, no _shit_ she was drunk. Yet she knew that his words carried more meaning than that. It was a stone cold reminder of what could but couldn’t exist between them, like the silence that had followed her open-ended wish.

“Right, sorry” she muttered bitterly, pursing her lip - she could still taste him on her tongue.

He called out her name softly, reaching a hand toward her knee “I-”

“Steve, I-I think you should go” she stood up abruptly, her words shaky but her voice loud and clear.

It took him a few seconds to respond, and the only sounds she could hear was his breathing and her own blood pounding in her ears. “Yeah” he said finally, and she heard him stand up from his spot on the couch, the leather squeaking under him.

She walked behind him as he trailed to the door, slow, sluggish steps uncharacteristic of Steve Rogers.

As they stopped at the doorway, he turned around, sucking in a breath, about to say something to her, before closing his mouth. He had failed for the second time tonight. Instead, he simply said:

“Good night.”

She wrapped an arm around herself, the other one already resting on the side of the door.

“Bye, Steve”

If only she knew how long Steve stood outside her door after she closed it, hovering his fist over the wood, seconds away from knocking, before he quickly retracted it, raised it up again, then pulled it back down.

If only she knew how badly Steve wanted to tell her things she forever longed to hear from other men. That he can’t stand to see her suffer with any more of those inconsequential idiots. That he understands. That he wants to show her how _he_ feels. That he can be what she’s waiting for.

If only she could feel the knife twisting in his heart as he withdrew his fist for the last time, turned around, and walked away.

And if only he knew how much she cried that night, clutching on to her cold, wet pillow, waiting for the sleep that never came.

Oh, if only.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a rather strange head canon I developed in my head and finished writing quickly. But now I'm thinking that I could expand this one-shot to a more fic-type work. Depends on if you guys want to read more, just let me know! Thanks so much :)


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